Pausing at a shop window, Penelope found herself frowning at her reflection, a gnawing worry puckering the corner of her mouth. What she had felt with such certainty during their online correspondence, she now found herself questioning, the nagging voice of doubt growing louder the closer she got to their agreed-upon meeting place.
They'd danced around each other as they always did, a veiled hint in each rejoinder, and with every new message she had heard his voice all the more clearly in her mind; and though she'd kept her caution, she had known. But had she really? The internet was such an impersonal medium. Yes, his words had struck a chord, but words on the screen were easily misinterpreted, coloured by the reader's own biases and expectations. People saw what they wanted to see, in other words. And what Penelope had wanted at that moment... Well. It had been so long a time. And the spark of familiarity, when she'd encountered Everett... Maybe she'd imagined there to be more to their brief exchange of messages than there really was.
She made a face at her reflection, tucking away an errant strand of hair before turning and continuing towards the piers. No use in worrying about it now. Either Everett Cohen was Odysseus, or he was not. If he was not, then she would bury her disappointment beneath the mask of Penny Joyce; she would have a pleasant lunch with her charming mortal travel agent, weighing up holiday destinations, and he would leave never knowing there had been anything more to the meeting.
If he was...
And that was when she saw him. He was standing alone, at the edge of the water. His back was to her at first, his body turned towards the ocean, but she thought -- or did she just hope? -- that there was something familiar in his bearing. Then he turned.
Years out in the world will take their toll on a person -- even a person blessed with a certain immortality, as they two were. It was more than just the fluctuating trends in fashion, the changing clothing and hair styles; though age might not touch them, flesh still tore and scarred, sun still bleached the hair and darkened the skin, hardship still told its story in scars and wrinkles and gauntness-- and so on, and so on. Sometimes when they found each other again, he looked an entirely different man from the one she had farewelled.
But Penelope, who even from the start had always seen through whatever front or false face her husband chose to put up, knew better than to put all her trust in appearances. She knew every inch of him, and at the meeting of their eyes, all her doubts evaporated.
Her heart leapt, but she did not give in to the instinct to run to him, keeping her steps measured: even without throne and kingdom, she was still a queen, and she kept her dignity. But though she greeted him with a cautious, "Everett?", the warm sparkle in her eyes said, Husband. "It's so good to finally meet you."